Goodbye my Almost Lover
by AccountKiller254654354351
Summary: Sahira's thoughts after the events in Hide your love away...


**A/N: just a little one shot on how Sahira felt after the events of 'hide your love away' hope you like and please please please review! You will make my day if you do :D**

**Rhirhi73, I hope you like my little tale and you are a wonderful person :D**

**Disclaimer: *ptttf* I wish...**

**And on with the story...**

What is love? It's strange, indescribable really. I thought I found it almost ten years ago with a man I now cannot stand the sight of. Rafi Shah. Love fades eventually, it has to. I said I would love Rafi forever, I gave him my heart full of hope, love and promises and now I have it back. Shattered, torn, used up and completely unrecognizable. You feel like you're lost in a maze, like your drowning or dying. Only the other person can save you, and that person has always been Rafi. Had always been Rafi. Now it's Greg- sweet, wonderful Greg- who looks out for me, who dries my tears and wipes away the sad, haunted look in my eyes; replacing it with the distinguishable glint of laughter and mischief that shouldn't be there. It shouldn't, yet feels so... right.

Kissing the day CT was closing, it was so wrong, yet pure and tender. I felt like I haven't for a long time, like a woman; a beautiful woman. Rafi never made me feel pretty just told me in an offhand manner. Every time Greg looks at me, he makes me feel like a model, a stunning model instead of plain old me. His lips on mine made my chest feel like it was about to explode, I ached all over, but in a good way, a delightful way that made me tingle from head to toe.

He bends over backwards to help me, plastered that stupid article all over the hospital and wrapped his arm around me, telling me that I deserved every complementary word that was printed. By the end of the day I had torn it down and was sat in the staff room, sobbing. Having screamed at Greg, Hanssen, Ollie and every other human being who had congratulated me that day, I let myself break down. The tears came thick and fast as I hauled myself over the coals. At what price had my success come? My family? Possibly. My marriage? Probably. And I had been right. When I thought of losing my husband, I felt relieved, but when I thought of losing my children, I sobbed harder. I cried and cried that day until there were no tears left; until my muscles ached from the wracking the sobs brought on, until my addled brain finally gave out due to exhaustion. Greg was the one who woke me up before anyone more gossipy had found me, who had wiped my eyes and apologized for whatever part he had played in my upset, who kissed my forehead with such sweet innocence that, for one moment, I just couldn't imagine my life without him. Always Greg

The day of the car crash was amazing, we had flirted and laughed, he had held my hand, I had kissed him on the cheek. If I tried hard enough I could imagine we were a couple, a beautiful couple that had been made in heaven. But the crash had changed everything, nothing had stayed the same. I sympathised completely, he thought I was dead, he thought it was _my_ little boy who was inches from death. He thought he would have to live the rest of his days knowing he let me go to my death, so that cupcake must have been a shock. It had been exactly the sort of flirtatious, whimsical request he would make and I had stopped for a few minutes at the bakery on Regent Street before going to pick Indy up. Chocolate with a swirl of blue icing on, it took me seconds to pick out the one I knew he would like best. It was a shame it ended up splattered all over that wall. And then I theatre, was it really that obvious? But the locker room, it was so different from the first time. He thought he had lost me, realized that he could have the things he cared about ripped away from his hands in seconds. Nothing held us back then; it made me think how I would feel if the tables had been turned, I would have been manic. The last kiss had been innocent, sweet, and almost virtuous. But this time I was surprised his lips didn't bruise mine.

Love shouldn't be for the pretty and pure, it isn't a museum for the good; it's a hospital for the broken. And only do I now realize that I AM IN LOVE WITH GREG DOUGLAS! And now I'm not afraid to admit it, not even a little bit.


End file.
